Outfoxed
by Scytherageroses
Summary: Chapter One: Steve Fox retains the middleweight championship belt, but at what cost? A fight he was supposed to throw, but won instead. And now, the Fox is about to be hunted.
1. Chapter 1

"Please hold me...I'm too afraid to fall.."

See me slipping out of your fingers..I miss your touch...

..the warmth...

now it's cold...am I alone...

I don't see you here.

"Please engulf me in your flames so I can crash and burn."

Don't go.

Leave me be.

"Embrace me, I'm falling..."

This is nothing.

I am nothing.

Darkness Devour.

 _Warmth_

 _Freeze_

 _Empty_

 _Loved_

 _Hated_

Passionate Fire

Heavenly Love

Child of War

Crown; God's First Christian Martyr

I don't believe

 _Red_

 _Yellow_

 _Orange_

 _Green_

 _White_

 _Blue_

Calloused Fingers

Long Legs

Entangle

And then, we fall.

...

 ** _I didn't want to love you._**

 ** _but it's too late..._**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

The crowd screamed and cheered in jubilation.

Exhausted and barely able to stand, England's Finest, Steve Fox stood in the middle of the ring, as the announcer grasped his hand to raise it in victory.

"Your winner, and still the middleweight champion of the world, Steve Fox!" he yelled to the adoring crowd.

Steve wanted to bask in his glory, after all, he was still champion, but he was just too exhausted to even smile. Taking deep breaths as his team approached him with towels and water, he wiped the sweat from his face and accepted the water that was poured into his mouth. His coach lifted Steve on his shoulders, showing him off to the cheering crowd as the sports channel reporters wanted to talk with him.

There was blood all over the ring, Steve's face was a bruised and bloodied mess, black and busted eye, busted lip, he could barely see anything on his left side, his team had to help him walk. His legs were like rubber, and he would have fallen if not for them. The announcer grabbed Steve's hand and pulled him towards him, asking,"So. how does it feel to be the champion still?"

"F-fucking great!" Steve yelled, before falling into his coach's arms.

Steve's team escaped the ring, holding their golden child up as they fled to the locker room, away from photographers, interviewers, and fans alike. They'd apologise in advance, but right now, Steve's health was of their main concern.

Not to mention the pain shooting in his left arm.

Back by the ring, a mafia group stood around their seats, looking at the ring in disbelief.

 _"I can't believe this.."_

 _"Steve Fox was supposed to lose! He was supposed to throw the fight, damn it!"_

 _"We put everything on the line..this is unacceptable!"_

The main mafia headmaster looked into his phone, looking at a picture of Steve in anger. "Goddamn pretty boy just cost us so much money.."

"So what should we do, boss?"

"Kill him." he said, closing his phone and putting it back in his pocket. "These little boys should know what happens when you cross us."

The mafia group nodded in agreement and left the arena, putting their plans to kill Steve in motion.

Following the fight, Steve's team wanted to party. They were having an afterparty at a hotel called the Union Jack, but Steve wanted nothing do with it. Too tired, all he wanted was to go back to his bed. As soon as he came to his room, he nearly passed out face first on his bed, knocking over his lamp along the way.

He knew he wasn't supposed to win that match. He was aware that the mafia wanted him to lose. But Steve Fox doesn't fight that way. He fights fair. He won fairly, pummeling his opponent and knocking them out. He fought and trained too hard to let a group of gambinos step in and ruin his fight.

A very dangerous group of gambinos..

He could only imagine the retaliation...he knew what happened to people who crossed the mafia; they ended up dead in the outskirts of Vegas...

The bright lights of Las Vegas shown into his hotel room, and he groaned with the loud music thumping against the walls. Each sound reminding him of the throbbing pain in his head. He could barely open his swollen eye, spitting out blood every so often on the white floors, with a promise to clean them up once he came to.

His whole body was sore. This was nothing new, this was boxing, one couldn't expect anything less. But still..

Bruises upon bruises coloring his pale skin purple, wounds all over said skin..he groaned as he rose from his bed, stumbling to his shower. He dropped his sweaty boxing trunks and underpants as he stepped into the shower, holding on to the railing as he turned on the water.

He liked the water warm, but even then, the warm water burned against his wounds, and he groaned in pain. Barely able to grasp the soap bottle, it slipped out of his hands, and he groaned in pain as he bent over to retrieve it. "At times like this, I could really use an assistant. Maybe a pretty young thing to help me.."

Groaning in pain, he tried to stand under the water, switched to cold, as he washed himself clean, watching the blood and dirt off his body fall to the floor and down the drain.

Boxing was taking a toll on him.

An Oxford University grad, he had to make ends meet to pay off his student loans.

He had no parents, no siblings to help, in fact, he didn't even know who his parents were. He was all alone in this world. As far he could remember, his earliest memory was in a laboratory. Scientists poked and prodded him with needles as he screamed for mercy.

Looking down at the scar on his arm, it started to sting in pain again.

"How hideous..." he groaned,"I'm an absolute freak."

Fully cleaned and scrubbed, but still in pain, Steve walked out of the shower, grabbing a towel around his waist as he walked back to his bed. His team was no where to be seen, probably dabbling in groupies and fans alike, as usual, surrounded by models who were looking for the boxer himself, but Steve was not a party guy. After his fights, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. He was used to being alone, why was tonight any different?

"Right, because I threw a fight and now they're going to kill me." he sighed, staring at himself in the mirror, examining his wounds.

With another sigh, he fell to his bed, throwing the bedsheets over his body, as he quickly went to sleep.

The next morning, his team had returned from their party, telling Steve of how wild it was. So much drugs, music, alcohol, and _"so many babes, Steve! And they all wanted to meet you!"_

Steve rolled his eyes.

"You could have brought them here, ya know." he said sarcastically.

They were packing up, ready to go back to England, when a note came through into the room.

"Hey, Steve, you might want to read this."

A piece of paper was put into Steve's hands, and he groaned, reading it. The image was of a dead fox covered in blood. It almost looked childish. "Mafia wants me dead. You know I wasn't supposed to win that fight last night." he sighed.

"You think they'll actually follow through?"

"Anything is possible if you try hard enough." Steve replied.

"In that case, you better hang low. We'll get you back to England, but you stay out of harm's way."

Steve shrugged and said,"Alright. I can count on you guys to protect me."

Little did he know that there a spy bunched within their group...


End file.
